The Longest Shortest Time

Mine

These days I find myself saying “no” and “c’mon, let’s hurry up” more often than I’d like, so today I thought I’d try an experiment. We had no plans whatsoever, and I decided to try my best to allow Sasha to dictate our morning and to say “yes” as much as possible. Before breakfast was through she was asking to go for a walk. It’s in the 50s today. An easy yes.

Ever since getting her cast off, she has been very insistent on walking by foot, with no stroller—a request I can not always grant. But today? Yes!

We headed out and went the direction she wanted. At this point, I must admit, I led us to CVS so I could run in and pick up some cough drops for a pesky cough I can’t seem to shake. This was absolutely fine with Sasha. She immediately started pulling whatever she could get her hands on off the shelves. Foot fungus powder, hemorrhoid cream, a pack of giant scrunchies (do people still wear giant scrunchies?). Hence, the first no’s of the day. Actually, the scrunchies were a yes. I thought I’d let her hold those while I chose my cough drops.

Before I could get through reading “cherry flavor” on the packaging I heard the slow tear of a box being opened. I looked down and Sasha was very intently digging into a box of allergy pills, grunting from the exertion.

An emphatic NO.

The expected screaming and grabbing ensued. And then something unexpected. Her first “mine.”

Mine?

This is a kid who still says “you” instead of “I” or “me” or “my.” As in, “Grammy got you an Elmo for you to hold.” Or “Daddy help you with that.” Or “Mommy hold you.”

I’m assuming she heard some kid in school say this? Or is it something I say? That’s mine. No, I think I say, “That’s Mommy’s.”

I did successfully pry the meds away from her fingers before she really opened the package. But this struggle felt different from all previous struggles. Like it was personal for her. Mine. Did she really feel ownership over this tiny pink treasure she had found?

We worked our way out of the store and continued on our walk. Sasha led us into the fancy French pastry shop, where she likes to take all of the sugar packets out of the containers and spread them on tables. I bought a ham and cheese croissant and a tea and the owner treated Sasha to apple juice. We shared the croissant at a table by the window and it was all very civilized until Sasha dumped her juice onto her plate (all the while saying to herself, “Don’t dump it.”) and then wanted to drink the croissant/juice soup. Which I helped her do.

Then we were off to the library, where she wanted to ride the elevator, climb stairs, and push buttons on computer keyboards. A whispering librarian approached us on the adult floor and warned me that some patrons pull up “inappropriate content” on those screens that Sasha shouldn’t see. Uh . . . okay. I assured her that Sasha just wanted to push the “S” button. I figured this was harmless and as part of my “yes” experiment I wanted to let her. I asked the librarian if pushing the button was okay and she gave me a wary yes. I decided it was time to ride the elevator again and Sasha was cool with that. Anything as long as we didn’t look at books.

Getting home wasn’t easy—I had to carry her for a few blocks. And if she had it her way, she would’ve played with light switches for an hour—or lay face down in our foyer until she fell asleep—it was really a tossup. And she was in a super rotten mood while I fixed us lunch. Leftovers of this tagine I made for dinner last night. Sasha picked out all the raisins and ate them, then started loading her food into her milk. The milk then got poured into her food bowl and next her water. She greedily slurped up the concoction while the liquid spilled all over her tray and the floor and she instructed me to “Clean it up, Mommy.”

Which, well, I had to say yes to.